


Goodnight, Travel Well

by Theeniebean



Series: Flesh and Bone [1]
Category: Ashes to Ashes (UK TV), Life on Mars & Related Fandoms, Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: A2A alternate take, A2A finale spoilers, M/M, Takes place after A2A finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 13:17:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14749593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theeniebean/pseuds/Theeniebean
Summary: Gene hits the end of the line.





	Goodnight, Travel Well

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still mad Sam wasn't properly in A2A. This takes place, in my mind, in the late 80s, but I suppose it could be anywhen.
> 
> Title taken from The Killers song of the same name.

Biting back a groan, Gene pried his eyes open, face flat against a frozen concrete floor. Head pounding, he looked around, taking in his surroundings as much as he could before moving - wouldn't do to lose the element of surprise if the bastard what put him here was still in the room. Didn't seem to be tied up. Didn't feel like anything was broken. The splatter of rain against metal sounded around him - some sort of shed or warehouse, then. Industrial. Typical. Never anywhere with a carpet and a couch. 

The lack of doors threw him for a moment, but just the one. He pulled himself up and sat back against the wall. The room was empty, the window set high - too high to reach. Gene scowled up at it. How the hell did he get in here? He fingered his pack of fags, pulling one out as he flicked his lighter. At least they hadn't emptied his pockets -

"Those'll kill you, you know." 

The flame licked the end of his cigarette, lighter as frozen as his blood. His eyes rolled upward, slowly, drinking in the figure stood so casually, so implausibly, in front of him. Those ludicrous trousers. That well-worn jacket. The stupid hair.

Sam.

He might have rasped that aloud, seeing as the other man smiled down at him, hands jammed in his jacket pockets as though this were a perfectly normal occasion. As though he hadn't disappeared into the night after going to all that trouble of faking his own - no, but it wasn't fake, was it? He'd gone down the pub, didn't he? Not just any pub, either.

Bugger.

The storm grew in intensity outside, thunder rattling the windows. They were dead. He'd died. Sam died. They'd all gone to the pub. He'd seen them all off. The barrel of a shotgun leveled itself in front of his eyes, the click of a trigger ricocheted against his ears. 

He took a drag, hands shaking, everything flashing across his face in a matter of seconds. Sam looked suitably abashed, as though he'd known what was racing through Gene's mind, the truth reasserting itself. Of course he known. Sam always noticed when something was genuinely amiss with him; it was part of his infuriating charm. Sam shifted his weight, apologizing in so many words about the reality of the situation with a twist of his lips, honey eyes wilting downward.

He'd considered getting up, grabbing the skinny idiot by his lapels, but he found his legs had mysteriously turned to rubber at the sight of him, his Sam, back and intact and real, not just a flicker in the corner of his eye or a reflection in a shop window. 

It was just as well he hadn't risen, because Sam took the legs out from under him anyway as soon as he'd opened his mouth. "It's over, guv." 

Gene quirked his brow, ashing his cigarette, not quite sure what 'it' was, or why it was over when he damn well didn't give the go-ahead for it. Sam grimaced, elaborating. "This...place, I guess. This world." He frowned at himself, not satisfied with his own answer, but only for the few moments it took to come up with a plainer solution. He looked back at Gene. "Pub's closed. For good." 

Gene visibly recoiled, crinkling his nose. "Closed? What'd you mean closed?" The worst words in any reality, especially before midnight. "Nelson-"

" - said it was chucking out time." 

Rather than processing the implications of that just yet, Gene elected to glare at his DI. "What're you doin' here, then?"

"Got chucked out." Sam shrugged, as though it were any sort of answer. Worrying at his lip, he continued to speak, succinct explanations about celestial red tape and men like Morgan and Keats ripping at the foundations rather than come at Gene directly to end it. They'd learned from every encounter. He'd forgotten after every farewell. 

"...and they'd all left, moved on before it was too late, but-" The storm rumbled ominously. "I knew you wouldn't make it back in time." He finished quietly, looking up at the singular window. "It won't be long now, Gene." 

A flash of lightning tore through the room, the crack rattling through the bones of the room, drenching Sam in horrific illumination. 

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what the-"

"Reality is reasserting itself, guv." Sam muttered sheepishly, as if that explained everything, waving his hands vaguely about himself, clad in a bloody grey suit. Gene furrowed his brow, a frown building on his lips. "Suicide." Sam said, plainly. The cigarette twitched between Gene's fingers; the chill in his bones grew colder than the concrete, discomfort turning entirely to something far more existential.

"You didn't." Of course he did, the prat.

"It's a bit messy, afterward." The younger man continued, clearing his throat, plowing ahead. Unable to go back now that he'd started. "There are...repercussions." He chewed on his lip, head bowed, looking down into green eyes. "Made it a bit tricky to 'move on', me an' Ray and the rest, but I could've, I'd sorted it - only I couldn't, not without-" The softness, the sheer sadness in his eyes as he back looked at Gene was indescribable. 

With another lightning flash blinding the warehouse, Gene saw the man mangled before his eyes, twisted, bloody, broken. Sam as he truly was, the moment he left There to come Here. Bile rose in his throat, but needing to see, he didn't look away, even as something fundamental shifted in his guts, giving all the bent little animals a run for their money and then some. 

Sam looked away. Gene wondered if he was ashamed of himself or horrified by the sight of a young man looking back at him with one helluva hole in his face. He cleared his throat instead of considering it - he certainly didn't want to remember it, feel it. Leveling his voice, not wanting to come over all Dorothy right at the end, he spoke. "'s a rubbish suit. Look like a banker, you do." The specter before him uttered a laugh tinged with bitterness as he crossed the decaying room, settling down next to his partner. They sat in silence for a bit, not looking at each other, ignoring each time the truth flashed in the flickering storm.

"I don't regret it." Sam said.

Gene did. He had several dozen questions and at least fifteen punches to throw about it. "Prolly did when you hit the pavement, ey?" He rumbled instead, passing his flask over. "Mind you, it made you easier on the eyes, if anything. Girls love a shambling horror, really gets their motor goin'."

Sam snorted, masking a smile as he lifted the cool metal to his lips. "Did you even hit puberty before you got your head blown off?" 

"Spots n' all, Sammy-boy, and I still pulled more 'n you."

The silence dragged for a bit, the last few lingering pulls of whiskey occupying most of their time. Gene decided to break it. "So it's all crumbling down then." The other man hummed, blowing on his hands, rubbing them together for warmth as the temperature dropped further. The ceiling above them had eroded into galaxies; the brightest of stars that he'd long avoided gazing at scarred his retinas. He hated them, every single one. "End of the show, do not pass go, drop two hundred on the bar on the way out." He pulled another flask from his pocket, flipping the cap. 

The lightning struck again, just outside the fabricated walls. The whiskey burned his throat. "When I finally went in," He began, mostly to himself. "The pub, that is. I always figured you'd be at the bar. Pictured it every time, when I remembered what was what." Sam turned to face him, then. "Leather jacket, stupid hair. Elbows on the counter, drink in hand. First thing I'd see. Ray n' Chris n' the plonks n' all, off their faces playin' darts or summat, but you'd be stood there, waiting with my drink." He paused, just long enough to feel the hand on top of his own. "'s your shout, after all. Probably shouldn't've waited til last call to pop round."

Sam smiled ruefully. "Just a bit beyond fashionably late, guv." It was just stars now, thousands of fireworks pelting him like spears. The concrete had melted into nothingness, and if he'd stopped to consider the gravity of the situation, he'd find himself falling. As a personal rule, Gene Hunt did not fall. 

He'd run out of flasks, though, and he was already parched. Licking his lips, he turned his head toward Sam, not caring if he saw the man or the corpse just as long as he saw him. "What happens now?" The other man shrugged noncommittally. Gene snorted. "Fat lot of good you are, then. No enigmatic Sam Tyler diatribe about life, the universe, n' everything?"

"I can tell you it isn't actually 42, if that helps."

Gene frowned. Sam grinned. 

Gene stared at him.

The sheer mirth on Sam's face transcended space-time, somehow. 

Gene snorted, turning to hide a smile by lifting an empty flask to his lips. God help him, he'd missed that shit-eating grin. "Good to know you still spout off utter nonsense, even when you're at the end of the line, Tyler." 

"Wouldn't want to disappoint you in your final moments, guv." Sam's fingers curled around his own, head resting against his shoulder. Gene turned his head, resting his lips against Sam's fringe. The vacuum around them stole everything else as the stars winked out, one by one. Gene closed his eyes, whispering against Sam's skin as the darkness swallowed them.


End file.
